


Is this truly all you want?

by thesweetpianowritingdownmylife



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Demisexual Wesley, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife/pseuds/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Wesley sucked cock like he did anything else: precisely, neatly, and hoping he didn't get any grime on himself.</p><p>The power was intoxicating, but he found the whole process rather tiresome. He did it because he was good at it, and out of politeness but the prospect of it did nothing for him.</p><p>That is, until he met Wilson Fisk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is this truly all you want?

 

James Wesley sucked cock like he did anything else: precisely, neatly, and hoping he didn’t get any grime on himself.

He didn’t take his glasses off.

His lips, stretched obscenely around the shaft instead of in a smug smirk, were what most men would describe as heaven. And is tongue… well, let’s just say that it could do much more than spit sharp wit; it was a ballet dancer, fast and twirling, applying just the right amount of pressure here and there when needed; teasing the slit just enough to make his partner whine. In his opinion, a gag reflex is something that happened to other people: he could deep throat as if he were sucking the life out of a man through his cock. He used it sparsely, though –saved it for the right moment, when his partner was close to completion, and he never let anyone fuck his throat; he was the one in charge, and he had received no complaints so far.

His hands were never idle either. They were always caressing his partner’s skin, gripping their hips hard enough to leave bruises, pumping the part of the shaft that didn’t fit in his mouth, groping the sack with just a touch of roughness. Occasionally, if his partner was agreeable to it, he would finger them, reaching their prostate swiftly, because James was nothing if not efficient. He always finished the job with his hands, because the mere thought of ending with a mouthful of come was distasteful enough to make him retch.

Through the whole process, he was oddly silent. No moans of pleasure nor choking groans escaped him. He preferred instead to listen to his partner’s reactions, the desperate whimpers and cries of someone who was close to orgasm, and observe almost detachedly how he could make them squirm.

The power was intoxicating, but he found the whole process rather tiresome. He did it because he was good at it, and out of politeness –he enjoyed being at the receiving end and believed in the fairness of the quid pro quo– but the prospect of it did nothing for him.

That is, until he meets Wilson Fisk.

At first he didn’t feel any attraction towards him –he seldom did feel any more than mere aesthetic appreciation, he had sex because he wanted to get off, not because he wanted the other person–, but after a couple of years of working under his command, he had to restrain himself from jumping him every single time he saw him. He couldn’t explain it; the affection between them had grown beyond a simple boss-employee relationship, he cared for his man, trusted him with his life, wanted him safe and happy. He abhorred Fisk’s violence but was there every time to pick up the pieces after it burst out of him; he learned to navigate his moods, his needs, his shortcomings; he became what Fisk needed at any given moment. But at the same time Wesley discovered the true Fisk, his passion, his righteousness, his honesty. They work together side by side for long nights, and Fisk’s mouth eventually spills the secrets of his past, his insecurities and fears, and Wesley listens without judging and he falls in love _hard_.

He falls in love and falls in lust, it’s nothing he had ever experienced before, but suddenly all he sees is red with the need of putting his mouth all over Wilson’s body. It scares him and it excites him, because he knows Fisk could snap his neck like a twig, break all the bones in his body with his fists, yet he hopes his employer would use his hands differently on him. Since the feeling is so new and alien to him, he’s no good at masking it, to the point that Fisk notices.

One day he walks into Fisk’s apartment and he finds the man himself pointing a gun at his head and demanding an explanation for his erratic behavior. Before he can stop himself, he says “I would like to suck your cock”, which certainly gets Fisk’s attention. He lowers his gun in shock and waves Wesley to come closer.

He speaks hesitantly. “I did not truly believe you would betray me, but you wouldn’t respect my judgment if I didn’t take precautions. Even from you.” He puts the gun away, and gently took Wesley’s hand. “If… if that’s… truly what you want… go ahead.”

Wesley looks at him wide-eyed for a second before dropping to his knees. He’s desperate as he pulls his employer’s fly down and takes out his cock with reverent, shaky hands.

Sucking Wilson’s cock is a whole new experience, like dancing to a music he already knew without sticking to its previous choreography. He does it for Fisk, but he also does it for himself. He can’t think about what will feel best, he just plunges in, with hungry tongue and lips, and takes him all the way down on the first try, swallowing around the head. Fisk gasps, burying a hand in his hair; he looks down at the beautiful man engulfing his cock and smiles at his disheveled form. “Is this truly _all_ you want?” he asks as he carefully takes Wesley’s glasses off.

Wesley wants to die right there and then, with the weight of his employer’s cock heavy on his tongue, his senses assaulted by the man’s musk and his fingers rubbing patterns on his scalp, gentleness and understanding and desire radiating from the other’s eyes. He lets the shaft fall from his mouth and stands straighter, reaching up and kissing Fisk deeply for a few seconds that seem eternal. He presses their foreheads together for a moment, sighing with relief at seeing his affections returned, and chuckles quietly. Fisk smiles back.

On the way back down, he unbuttons the other man’s shirt and peppers his body with kisses before taking him again in his mouth, slower this time. He nearly loses his head with the taste, with the sting in his mouth from having to stretch it too wide. He’ll be sore soon and he’s drooling all over the place and it’s perfect. He lavishes the cockhead with attention, lapping with his tongue, listening raptly to the sounds his partner is making. He licks, and sucks, and rubs, and performs every trick in the book to ensure that Fisk is enjoying himself. Wesley’s hands caress the skin of his thighs, rub the rest of his cock, worship the body he’s pleasuring so intently.

When Fisk is close, Wesley lets him grab his head with both hands and fuck his mouth almost violently. He relinquishes control, gives up his power, just as he’s given everything up for this man; why would this be different? Fisk comes in his mouth and Wesley swallows as he also comes, untouched, in his slacks.

He has never felt closer to anyone in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I am Fiskley trash. Come join me in the dumpster.


End file.
